Halfway Through My DPT!

"How do you think you did?"
Me: "Well... uh...I mean, I guess it could use some improvement."

This is the conversation that goes on every time after a competency at school. In case you don't know what a competency entails, it's this: It's essentially an exam done with a professor and/or PT clinician where you perform your PT skills and receive a grade. A number of things can allow you to fail. If you fail more than two times, you get kicked out of the program.
Competencies have been beasts for me ever since I started school. My first year, I floundered and failed nearly every single time it seemed. I had retakes. And I had second retakes. And I had to take retakes over break. PT school seemed like one huge, stupid, massive struggle and I sucked at it. Competencies would go like this:
Professor: "How do you think you did?"
Me: "Well, I think I did ok."
Professor: "Actually, no. You messed up. I want you to retake."

After a couple times of that, I stopped saying I did good or even ok during the feedback session.

Was I ever going to be a good PT? Come summer, I had the ante upped for me a bit as I got a talking to about my awful competency performances. It always seemed like it was some stupid mistake that got me in the end: Reading my goniometer measurement wrong. Palpating at not quite the right area. Not performing this or that test quite correctly enough. And I hadn't even gotten to the hard competencies yet. The ones that didn't just involve having skills read off a list at random to be performed. The ones where you evaluated, treated and documented just as you would in a clinic were around the corner. How was I supposed to pass those?

I'm looking back at all of this now and I guess it's all the more surprising how far I've come. Summer was stressful, because I felt as though I was under so much pressure to pass that come 2 weeks before a competency I would have stress dreams. The week before, all I could do was fixate on the stupid thing: my life as I know it, hanging in the balance - was this the week I get kicked out?

It was a struggle. Last year was rough. For a lot of personal reasons. For personal relationship reasons. For my insurance doesn't cover insulin so I need to save up money and work in case I don't have insulin reasons. For struggling to acclimate to school and a new city reasons. And I nearly drowned in it. School wasn't the priority I needed it to be. My mom even told me about some dream she had this time last year: about me passing fall, and then having some kind of meeting, and a second chance. And I'd finally graduate. And then Spring finished: no meeting: I passed classes. But I failed my last competency. And then I failed that retake too. And I finally passed the last one. And then I was in a meeting about it; about the second chance I'd had. Things had to change in order for me to achieve getting my DPT.
Ever since meeting Kris in fact, things have changed. He stayed up tirelessly before every single competency so that I could practice, and practice again, and practice some more. I haven't failed a single competency since then: no retakes, nothing. I've worked my ass off and stayed at school until midnight some nights just to have a fighting chance at passing. Even the big ones that came this semester: whole weeks of relative terror leading up to an hour and a half of my heart rate being way up as I tried to prove to someone grading me that I deserved to stay in school. I'm not a perfect PT, or even a perfect PT student at that, but you know what? I've passed. And that's a big deal to the student that struggled so hard last year. But, part of me is still afraid to say how I think I did! So I don't. I always just say I can use more experience and improve from there.

It's finals week now, and next semester is my last academic semester before going off to clinic. I can't believe I'm nearly there. Just a week of finals and one more semester and I can go to clinic. 4 semesters down, 4 to go. I can be a PT. It's almost here. It's been a really hard journey, but looking back at the last year of my life in school, I can say this: I've adapted, and I've grown where I need to. I'm still not perfect, and I'll never be a perfect A graduate student. But you know what? I'm still here. I'm still going to be a PT, because I'm going to fight for it. I won't fail. I'm not perfect - but I've fought tooth and nail to be here, and I'm going to keep doing that and keep practicing until I fall asleep exhausted before competencies. I'm going to study myself to death so that I can pass exams in the morning. I'll sacrifice sleep, I'll sacrifice free time, I'll sacrifice fun. But it's all going to be worth it in just a year and a half: because I'm going to make it. And at the end of the day? That's what matters.

A Season of Changes

This post is personal, and so I'm sharing it with you.
There's a sort of good catharticism that comes from sharing personal things - you're laying yourself bare, and that can be draining, but you're also giving yourself a chance to let go of things and breathe.

I don't talk a lot about my past relationships anymore. I don't talk about them, because me and my husband-to-be have talked about pretty much everything from our pasts. There's nothing we don't talk about, really - and I find that so special and meaningful because I want the person I'm going to spend my life with to be as easy to communicate as breathing, and talking to him to be as natural to me as thinking thoughts in my own head. I've never had that before, and these past few months have really shown me how amazing it is to share the gift of good communication with someone.
I don't every feel like talking about past relationships is unwelcome. But when you've said all there is to be said and left no secrets behind, you don't really feel the need to. Sometimes, though, I think it'a ok to want to - it's good to get these things off your chest.

So, here I am. Someone I knew passed away last week. I knew her from a past relationship. It hurt me a lot more than I thought it would. She was my one of my teacher from high school's mother. My high school wasn't like your high school - it was a very tight knit, very loving and small group of homeschoolers that came together once weekly for classes. As an extent, I still keep up with most of these people today. They are wonderful. She was also my ex-boyfriend's grandmother. I spent a lot of time in Georgia when we were dating, and thus I spent a lot of time with her. I found myself wishing I had known her longer, because she seemed like an amazing woman. Capable, brilliant, beautiful. I heard nothing but good stories about her.
The last time I saw her was in May. I was in town for a brief visit, and she had gone back home to live with Florida family for a while now. She had recently had hip surgery and was recovering. I was struck with the need to go visit her. I didn't know why, honestly, but something told me to go. I asked my old teacher, who was also a friend, for permission first. After getting the ok and being told where she was staying. I picked up a card for her and decided to follow my gut and go.

I'm getting better and following my gut, but sometimes I still don't know why I do.
I pulled up to a pretty community in Winter Park, and went up to the lobby inside and asked for her. After some walking around and going up this elevator and down that hall and that, I finally found her room and waited on the nurse before going in and softly saying hello. I didn't talk about any of the bad things. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I was welcome or not - things between my ex and I had ended badly, and I'll be the first to take all the blame for that. I'm not a perfect person at all, and I feel I left a lot of residual damage on my road to finding myself. I can't undo it, and that's life. All I can try and do is be as kind as possible, although I'm sure there are plenty who would say I am not kind.

I spent a lot of time talking to her. I told her about my adventures in Atlanta. I told her about PT school, and how we had learned so much about hips and hip surgeries last semester. I talked about her family in Florida, my friends from school. I even talked about her other family - the family I can't talk to anymore - and how much I knew they loved her. I talked about the sun outside and the birds and how I hoped she could see them soon. I cried. And then I left the card on her table and softly said goodbye, leaving the room behind, knowing this was likely the last time I might ever see her.

I got chewed out for going to see her by my ex, as I had accepted might happen. That was the final straw - I hated that we were still bickering back and forth and arguing with each other. It saddened me because we were both being hurt. It had been over a year, and I was tired. I felt that this prolonged limbo was only acting as poison - no one could move on with something like that in their lives. No one deserves that. I hadn't been able to let go... but I did it then.

Last week and today - it's made me think a lot - about my past and, ultimately, about forgiveness. I don't feel ill will towards anyone in my past - I'm sure some think ill will of me, and it's ok. I get it.
I was trying to explain this to an elderly woman I was interviewing for a project last Wednesday. She was telling me about life in her community - how death was all around her now that she lived around the elderly. One day people are there, and the next, they're gone. It can happen in an instant. "I'm very sensitive about my age," she told me. Growing up, even 20 years ago - "You never picture yourself getting old." Time passes, years add on to our lives, and people go away. Even you go away, eventually. It's the hard reality of life. Tears came to both of our eyes as I told her the story I've just told you, and how I talked about the surprising amount of hurt, loss, and forgiveness I felt for my past. How sad I was about this woman's passing, and how much concern I felt for the loss I knew her family must feel.
Grief hurts, but it can bring healing, too.

I think it's ok to feel hurt about people or news even when they aren't part of your life anymore. Even after you've said goodbye. My past relationships left a lot of hurt and a lot to be upset about on both ends. I feel that I could be upset and angry also, but I don't think that's the road God intends us to take. We have to learn to give our worries to him and let him heal us in the way he knows best. We learn that in order for us to heal, it's good to wish the best for others. It helps you find peace, too, when you wish peace on others.


My life is changing more quickly now - this last year was about getting used to Atlanta, and becoming comfortable in my own skin here.
This year is about saying goodbye to the familiar that I have built and embracing the new. It's scary - I'm leaving the home I have so dearly come to love, and even more scary sometimes, I'm learning how to stop living life in the "just-me"; it's not about just me anymore.
It's about us - Kris and I. I'm not building a life alone anymore, but every day of our engagement is the opportunity to start laying the building blocks of the marriage we will have.
It's going to be the best adventure of my life. It's scary, but the cool part is, I'm not doing it alone - and I'll never have to.

Last week was a reminder of the changing times, and to remember to stop and take time to think on my past and find peace with it. To pray a little more, and yes, to mourn, too. Because I am sad, and loss comes to us all and changes us, in big ways or little ones or both.
Yes, it's very much the season to let things go. I'm starting to "purge" old things everyday as not too long from now I'll be packing my belongings in boxes once again. It's time to forgive my past. And to embrace the new. This is a time of transitions for me, a time for learning and getting ready for all of the changes that are coming. In a little over 6 months, I get to marry the most wonderful man I've ever met. And while change has never been my favourite, I know it's something about life I can't control. I can only embrace it and do the best I can.

The Engagement Story!

Every morning driving to school I have a reason to smile now, because I pass underneath Jackson Street Bridge, the view of the city skyline rising before me, sky turned pink, orange and blue by the early morning light and rising of the sun.

I'd always been fond of this view, but now especially I feel I have a reason to. 

I can't help but feel a sense of awe at God from bringing me to Atlanta. I almost didn't make it - I can count dozens of times where, if something in my life had happened differently, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't done gymnastics - I wouldn't have homeschooled. If I hadn't homeschooled - I wouldn't have gone to Smith Prep. Or gone to summer camp. Or chosen to move to Georgia. If I had decided to choose UCF's PT program when they called me in April 2014, I would have bypassed my chance to go to Mercer. I would never have gone to Atlanta. I would have never started dancing. 

If I never moved to Georgia and started face painting, I wouldn't have found myself at a park in November in 2012 face painting for the Atlanta Cabbagetown Chomp and Stomp. A park which, coincidentally, Kris Mason happened to pass by on this same exact date, and saw my friend Crystal and I dressed like gypsies face painting. (Which I just think is funny).

Last week on my birthday was the most wonderful day I've ever had. Kris told me to come right to his place when I got out of school, and told me I should wear a nice dress. The weather was beautiful and only slightly windy. Every year on my birthday, I make a list of unusual things to complete - eat something I don't normally do, write a letter and leave it for a stranger, leave 22 pennies in 22 random places, jump in a pool with all my clothes on... and this year, a new addition, sign my name on the Jackson Street Bridge, which since summer had become Kris Mason and I's favourite spot after he had shown it to me one starry night. 

Obviously, any gal is going to think that her boyfriend has something special planned if he tells her to come straight home and wear her favourite dress on her birthday. What could it be? Surprise photos? Flowers? A letter? I couldn't really wrap my head around it, but Kris had been throwing out hints for a week, much to my dismay. He'd thrown out enough hints to convince me that is wasn't an engagement ring, however, that I knew better than to get my hopes up. I had badgered him about my mysterious gift all week though (not that he was budging). By the time my birthday came around though, I was so excited about the day in general that now knowing what my gift was yet was ok. There was one hint he had given away though: we'd be going to sign the Jackson street bridge at sunset. 

Kris drove me to Acapella first to buy me a new book - one of the first items on my list, and all the while I was throwing pennies out the window and everywhere I could find to get rid of the 22 of them I had in my dress pocket. While we were there, I left my letter in a book because I was worried leaving it outside would result in it blowing away. 

We left Acapella after finding a book and then Kris drove me to Krog Street market. I was surprised there was a place on that side of town that I hadn't been to (I'm very fond of the Inman Park area). Another item on my list was trying a beer I'd never tried before. I tried to pay for our beers but Kris insisted that I wasn't going to pay for anything on my birthday. 

"We have some extra time," he said as he smiled and we sat down. "It's not sundown yet". 

I saw a lady behind us looking at us, all dressed up that we were. She was talking with a man and sipping her beer. She gave us the sweetest smile as we sat down, which I don't think Kris caught, but it made me happy because I felt like my life was better than a fairytale right now. Honestly, I was just happy to spend my birthday with Kris. It was really all I'd wanted to do all day since I'd woken up.

All the while, Kris was texting someone but not letting me see who, leading me to think there would definitely be pictures. I'd told him I wanted to get a picture on the bridge for us to frame earlier that week, and he had smiled so sweetly and told me we would definitely be able to get one that I thought maybe he was just going the extra mile with that item on my birthday list. 

While we were sitting down, I was sipping a beer in my right hand while my left was in my lap. I usually wore rings on my left hand because my right hand fingers were smaller, and I had unfortunately lost quite a few rings due to them slipping off my right hand through the years. I was wearing a ring that Crystal had given me from her trip to Italy earlier that year, and Kris slipped it off, which should have (obviously) been a big hint to me, but me having just drank an 11% alcohol beer didn't really get the hint. Kris took my beer away and I took my ring back. "No fair," I told him, as I put it back on my hand.

It was time to leave. There was one more thing on my list before Jackson Street bridge - get some Recees Pieces. Kris took me by a gas station and bought me some, and then we parked by Condesa Coffee in the parking garage to walk over to Jackson Street bridge. The sky was turning bright orange with the sunset as we walked across the streets filled with traffic. I was so happy I was practically skipping, my heart fluttering with happiness and anticipation with what my gift could be. Kris held my hand in the meanwhile and we walked across the street, and finally we were at the bridge. I went to look around but he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Look at how beautiful it is!", while directing my view towards the skyline And indeed, the view was beautiful, as the sun glistened off of the building tops and it felt like all of Atlanta stood before me in its shining glory, Freedom parkway snaking underneath and blending into the Interstate. We walked to the very center of the bridge and Kris hugged me closely. "Right here," he said. He started talking about when he first took me to Jackson Street bridge - how he had promised to love me always - I was hardly listening, because by then it was obvious to me what this was going to be, and I could hardly breathe from nerves. I can't even remember the rest of what Kris said, especially as he started moving his arm from off my back and stepping away as he said, "so with that..." I looked at him and held onto his arm so as to say don't go, if you do my life will change forever, and next thing I know, Kris was on one knee and reaching into his jacket pocket, and I was thinking about a billion things at once, mostly due to the fact that a person in this situation doesn't really know what to do. There's not really a social guidebook. 

No, all I really remember from what Kris said before we got engaged was the most important part:

Him as he asked with the biggest smile on his face, "Will you marry me?"

I feel that I'd always known the answer to that question since I had met Kris, but me trying to verbalize the answer came out so softly I could hardly hear it, because all I could whisper was "yes", supplementing my lack of words with a nod of my head.
It didn't matter to me though, because that felt like a moment where words didn't matter. I was so distracted with clinging to him and hugging him that I didn't even notice what the ring now on my finger looked like, or the fact that our friend Elizabeth Day (the mysterious person Kris was texting) was taking pictures. All I could think about was how changed my life was from what it had been. How I had spent years of sorrow and upset chasing after the wrong people who hurt my heart and whose hearts I'd hurt, too. People who, no matter how hard I tried to fix our relationship, would never be right for me the way Kris had always been without even trying. It was one of those moments in your life where you finally realize what God was trying to tell you all along when he put you through all the things he did.
All the tears I shed in 2014 as I had bid someone I'd dated for 5 years goodbye, and all the struggles with it I had faced all the way up until 2015 before I met Kris, even. The depression. The falling asleep feeling alone, the waking up sad, the tearful car rides to and from school, the almost failing my second and first semester because I couldn't let go of the past. The hurt felt like my penance for the wrong I had done. The leap of faith it had been to move to Atlanta completely alone, not a friend in the world or someone by my side. All the aimless dating - the feeling bored, feeling like people only understood part of me, questioning after nearly a year whether or not I actually even loved the people or person I claimed I did - not knowing what it was supposed to feel like to know who the right person was but being scared. Scared of the uncertainty. Scared I'd mess up and pick the wrong person.

And then Kris walked into my life one hot summer evening, and my life would never be the same. He took all of my fears and my paranoia of finding the wrong person and took them away forever. He showed me that living a life beating myself up for the hurt I'd caused was doing a disservice to myself. For the first time with any human being, I let him know everything - I even let him read every single one of my journals chronicling years and years of my life through my best and darkest moments. Every hurtful secret, tearful goodbye, shameful moment - he knew it all and then what's even more remarkable, instead of turning around and leaving, he embraced me even more for it. He assured me that he wasn't going to go anywhere and he proved it. He actually wanted to spend time with me - wanted to talk with me - wanted to know either all of me or none at all. So I let him know it all, because something told me that was the right thing to do. Kris embraced everything about me - my devotion to school and to work with being a distraction, and more importantly the love I so desperately wanted to give, the belief I desperately wanted to have in someone being the one for me, the someone that finally wouldn't hurt me - he showed me that that person could exist where before I thought that all you could do was settle for someone who only met some of your hopes. Kris met every single hope of mine and more. I never felt like God had made someone just for me, but with Kris... I felt like this was exactly what God was bringing me to all of these years. And loving him and being loved by him: it's effortless. All the times I felt like giving up, God was whispering, just wait. Soon I'm going to bring the two of you together, and you'll understand everything. Trust me and hold on a little longer.

It brings tears to my eyes to think about all of this, and it took me a week to right this because I had to let my emotions settle first. I'm not the kind of girl to jump on board right away with things. I carefully weight everything and then weigh it more.
But Kris came into my life, and I realized that it didn't matter if I'd dated him for months or for years - this was the man that God intended me to love and be loved by. He was the One. The exact picture of the kind of man I'd always hoped I could marry but never thought I could fine. And it was so obvious that all the doubts I'd ever felt with people before were gone - and those doubts seem so silly when I see that now I don't have a single doubt at all.

Because when you find the right person, it's clear as day.

I still can't believe it, it hardly seems real that last week we got engaged and now I'm planning a wedding for May. But I'm the happiest person in the world. All those old memories I have feel as though they were lived by someone else, and ever since I met Kris I've finally felt free. Free to move on and live the kind of life God promised me I could have. To live in the happiness that is knowing that you entrust everything you are with a person that never hesitates to do the same with you.
As we stood on top of that bridge last week, I was thinking all of these things. And while some of it still doesn't feel real, I know this:
I love Kristofer Mason more than anything in the world, and I am so happy and blessed that I get to spend the rest of my life with him. 

Glad for the Unknown.

I think frequently back to my last couple of weekends prior to learning that I had been accepted to Mercer's PT program. It was a very difficult time in my life for me, but I was doing my best to get myself out and around Macon and enjoy myself. I had grown to love Macon, and all its nooks and crannies. Macon was a place of comfort for me. It was where I lived. It was where I worked. My friends were there, my business, and I had all of my favourite places. Coffee shop: check. Walking Rose Hill Cemetery and the flooded, poorly made trails around the Ocmulgee. Kroger was a familiar, welcoming place. Traffic was never crowded - the gas was cheap - and Mercer and Wesleyan's campus made wonderful walks. The library downtown was my happy place.

What could be better?

Back then, I didn't think I was going to get into PT school that year. So what if I I just took a year off? Or... a few? I was tired. Maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I just needed to enjoy my youth. Recover from the hardships of that year. It wouldn't be so bad.
And so I was happy to receive an interview for an Admissions Counselor position at Wesleyan College, as well as an interview for a pharmaceutical sales rep for Quintiles. I'd be a good sales rep for Diabetes medications - I mean, I know a lot about them. Both cushy positions that could allow me to still live in Macon. I didn't want to leave! Macon was home. 

As I prepared a date for my Quintiles interview and sat in the interview seat for a counselor position, I could really believe what I was telling myself when I thought that this was the best move for me. Yes, I was worried - what if I didn't get into graduate school? How much harder was it going to be to re-apply? What was it going to take for me to make myself stand out in applications next year - what more could I do than what I had already done? I had decent grades, I had the volunteer time, but I was young, and my experience in PT was only so-so.
Maybe PT wasn't even right for me.

My life was full of questions.
Then one night after the counselor interview and the day before my Quintiles interview in Atlanta, I received a call. It was from David Taylor from the Mercer PT program.
"Congratulations. We'd like to extend you acceptance to our program for Fall."
I couldn't hide my shock. "Oh my gosh...really? Wow. Ok. Wow." I probably sounded like a babbling idiot. But if Dr. Taylor knew all of the things going on in my life at the time - at how little solid stuff I had to grab on to - and how much he'd just shifted my life again, maybe he'd understand.

And just like that, my life suddenly became scarily solid as I prepared for a move.
There would be no job.
No more interviews.
No familiarity.
And no more Macon.

My life was thrust from familiarity to living in a place with no friends, no family, no one. Nothing familiar.
And it was terrifying at the time. You know? It still is, sometimes. Sometimes I stop and think and then realize that it's like walking on a narrow bridge and forgetting how high up you are until you look down.
My life could no longer be cushy and familiar. Now it's hard and there's new experiences every day in this great big city of lights and traffic.
It matches my ambition, I've found.

And while the road hasn't been easy, some days I look back on that time in my life when I was considering all these endless choices and I think....

I'm so glad I decided not to stay in Macon and be an admission counselor. (And there's nothing against that job at all, truly. I admire how hard those people work.) But looking back, I realize that  that was a role that was never meant for me.
We're all meant for different things, and I'm glad that part of that role for my life meant being a part of something not comfortable and familiar at all - but exciting and unknown.

Full Heart.

It's been a long day of work, I'm exhausted, and I just have to brag on Kris Mason a little bit.There's nothing I wouldn't do to help Kris, but today he went above and beyond in helping me. Kris helped me get ready for my events this morning, helped me pack my car in the rain and organize balloons, drove me to my first party, helped me in and helped me get unpacked. When he got back to help me pack when my first party was over, he not only helped me back to my car, but he had gotten me barbeque for lunch, donuts from this amazing donut place he'd been wanting me to try, and glucose tabs, in case I got low. He drove me without complaint to my next event. It was still raining, and Kris stopped at a yellow light. We were running a little behind, and I caught myself being upset that he had stopped when he could have gone.
"If it was just me, I would have." He said. "But there's nothing more important to me than making sure you're safe."
And being upset was silly, just like that. How can you ague with that logic?

My next event was very busy, and face after face I painted while it was very hard to get through the line with the darkening skies and the rain. Kris stepped in and even though he only knew how to twist two different types of balloons, he twisted balloons for all of the kids in the line as they waited, and made up designs just off the top of his head - even though he's only ever had 15 minutes of practice here and there at balloons, ever.
I handed him my tip jar at the end of the event, but he passed it back and drove me home.
I couldn't have done it without him.

Guys, I tend to talk about Kris a lot. But I can't help it. He makes it impossible not to. And until meeting him, I've never met a man more wonderful, more one of a kind, more special, than him, I'm a firm believer that no love is the same, but Kris makes me feel as if I only felt half of what love is supposed to be before. He's so kind it brings me to tears sometimes just thinking about it. I've never met someone so genuinely good for me. Someone that makes me realize how much in the past I've only been settling. It's so genuinely wonderful to be in a relationship where we are both just mutually good for each other. And one that makes me realize: I don't have to settle. I've spent a long time chasing the wrong people, enough so that I see so clearly what a difference it makes when you're with the right person. And when you are, you chase each other, you strive to love each other, every day, just for the sake of doing so. No needless drama, no silly miscommunication: we're not perfect, but we always communicate, we listen, and we care. And that makes all the difference. For the first time in my life, I'm consistently joyful: for the first time in my life, the scars and height that marred me from my past for so long have no power over me, They are gone, and it's the easiest thing I've ever had to do, to watch them go without a second thought.
My heart is so full, and I'm so happy. God has blessed me beyond measure, and I'm finally at one of those beautiful points in life where you see how everything that was supposed to fit together, finally has.

Mindfulness and Diabetes

Tuesday at lunch some of my friends snagged me to go to some free program they were having at Mercer called "tea time and meditation". While it turned out that spending 10 minutes analyzing raisins to better our mindfulness was a little bit comical, it did get me thinking about how mindfulness really is important to the quality of how you live your life. I don't know about you, but I myself have been very bad about mindfulness for a very, very long time. College was a literal blur and so was high school. I am proud of where I am at, but when I look back on my life for years and years I see one long string of goings-on and going-to's, of this, that and the other. Of rushing. Of worrying about the next thing. Each moment was an opportunity to prepare for another. Study and do hw on all of my breaks so I can work. Scarf down my food in 5 minutes to make my schedule fit from class to class. Rush from school to gymnastics, answer clients' emails on my free time while chatting with friends, and on, and on, and on. I am the literal queen of multitasking. It's wonderful and awful at the same time. Have I changed? It's hard to say.

But I think some of the best progress that I've made in truly learning to be mindful started when I began dating Kris. Kris is very anti-stress for me. He can calm me down in any situation, talk us through it, and lead us through prayer. He's really just wonderful at comforting me in general. But more than that, I feel like my relationship is different in that I want to be mindful with him. It means a lot of things. I want to focus on and enjoy every minute I have with him. And more than that even, I respect him. I respect him and by extension I want to give him all of my attention. This doesn't mean I can't work on homework or study or practice on him and thus give up spending quality time together. In fact, more than not I'm always doing one of those three things when we're together, because that's just the nature of school. A lot of it means being conscientious. It means listening when he speaks - truly listening, not just hearing. It means contributing to our conversation. It means being excited to tell him about my day and to hear about his. It means respecting his point of view, and embracing his opinions. Importantly for me also, it means putting down my phone and focusing less on social media. I think as I get older and I keep growing more, I realize that using my time to participate in useless Debates is not the best use of my time when I could be doing something meaningful. That my life exists outside of a screen - most importantly, it exists all around me, and if I spend too much time staring at a screen, that I'll miss a lot of important things.
By extension, this mindfulness - or striving to be - has helped with my Diabetes a lot. The whole dating with Diabetes is a blog post for another time, but while I'm not perfect still - I've been under a lot less stress. Stress increases your blood sugar, it's no secret. But by taking time to relax, enjoy my time, and let myself be calm - to try and take time for me not because I necessarily have more time, but making an effort to make the time I do have quality time - it helps me to focus on my numbers and has even helped my sugars become easier to manage.

This is definitely a work in progress for me, But, I think it is important, Diabetes or no, to embrace the things that are positive in your life and not take them for granted. To be mindful about them and take time to enjoy these things. Taking time out and really focusing on making your moments good ones might be one of the most healthy things you can do for yourself.

Old Diabetic Lacy and Now.

It's September, and I've been getting into the swing of my second year of physical therapy school. I was looking over my blog today, trying to find some inspiration to write something, and started looking across old drafts of posts I never published. It's weird to me, thinking back and realizing it's been 4 years and 5 months since becoming part of the very exclusive Diabetes Club. I live a pretty comfortable life right now. I still have insulin in the fridge, and although it's dwindling, I know it will be ok. I can even go see my Nurse Practitioner at school to write me prescriptions for insulin, which saves a little money, when I start to need it. I can get 100 test strips (albeit for the cheap meter) for $16 on amazon, and I still think that I've only gone through 4 or 5 boxes of needles and only a box or two of lancets since being diagnosed (seriously, I know it's bad but I never change those things). So I'm feeling pretty good. My Diabetes has seemed pretty tame with a comfortable 35 g of Lantus everyday to keep me from having to use as much Humalog to cover carbs and corrections, and my exercising more has helped keep my levels in check, too, so right now I'm coasting pretty easy. In fact, sometimes I even relax and don't think much about my Diabetes, which is nice. Except when I'm low. Then I still hate my body. But I look back at how far I've come, and I think I've made good progress in coping. Which is why I'm posting an old draft I never published back from years ago. To remember that though this disease is hard as ever, I've come a long way. Enjoy.

                                                                  

Diabetes is a largely invisible disease.

People see us and assume that because we look okay, because we appear to function normally, that Diabetes is not that big of a deal.

Diabetes gets downplayed because it is not cancer, it is not AIDS, it is not something you can often visibly see or tangibly touch. 

You could look at us and think, 'Hey, they look normal. Diabetes is not that bad." 

And if you do think those things, then you've got it all wrong.

Our struggles more often than not go on in silence. In the solitude of our rooms, in our beds at night, in our minds throughout the day, in the screen of a glucose meter.

We are largely silent sufferers, millions connected by the likeness that we share: The likeness of a single, life-changing disease.

Perhaps your view of Diabetes would be different if you saw what I see.

If you lived in my life, if you walked in my shoes.

If you felt the prick of a needle on your skin, or the weakness of low blood sugar, or the soreness on the tips of your fingers from all of the blood tests.

You don't see

The tears you cry in the hospital room, the ones you waited to cry until you were all alone. Because you wanted people to think that you were strong.

The discouragement you feel when your blood sugars are not where you know that they should be.

The guilt that even the simple act of eating a banana or half a sandwich, much less a caramel frappuccino or a piece of cake, can bring on.

The heartbreak you feel when your hopes and dreams go out the window when you learn of your diagnosis; When, suddenly, all of your plans must now be re-calculated, re-drawn, according to Diabetes and the limits it imposes. Which, regardless of what others might say, it does impose.

The worry you feel about the future, about the complications, about if you will lose your vision or need a kidney transplant, if you will ever be able to have kids, if you will ever live to be 100, or 70, or be alive when you wake up in the morning.
The ever-present desperate longing, the need deep inside, for a cure.
The calculator inside your head that carefully counts and then re-counts the carbs in every meal you are about to eat.
The potent, synthetic, bandaid-y plastic smell of insulin five times a day that you grow sick of.
The drastic difference between the bills and the amount of money you have to pay them.
The exhaustion of knowing that if there is never a cure, this will be your life until the day that you die.


Diabetes does not take a break. It does not call in sick for work, it does not go on vacations or take time off. If I am a safe, Diabetes is the 24-hour security guard.
And it is exhausting.
Diabetes doesn't wait for you, it doesn't ask you how you feel.
It shows no mercy, it has a cruel sense of humour.
It possesses biting sarcasm, it writes all of its own rules.
As much as Doctors claim to understand Diabetes, I often feel like there is so little known about it.

I don't know why, out of the millions, I was the one with the faulty immune system, with the faulty coding in my genes, why I was the ticking time bomb.
Doctor's can't tell me.
I don't know, if I ever choose to have children, whether or not they will have diabetes too.
No one can say. No one can predict.
I don't know why sometimes, even when I do everything right, my blood sugars will still zig zag up and down like a child's scribbles.
Diabetes is an imprecise science.
And I don't know if, even with all my hope, there will ever be a cure, a way to end this disease.

But I will never give up.
No matter what they say.
I will always have hope for a cure.
Until my dying day.
I may live with it now,
But I will never stop believing
That I will not die with diabetes.

You don't see what I see, most of you don't.
But we need our cure, too.
We need it for ourselves,
For the ones we love.
For our families, our friends, for the people we see on the streets.
For the millions of us who fight this disease every day.